


Like Friends In Debt

by Jalules



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Friendship, Minor Violence, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t like you, this directionless anger. When you have a problem with someone, you deal with it. You make your case, or set a trap, or rip the rug right out from under them so they fall back and find you smiling down, so they know who’s on top, who has brought them so low.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Friends In Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a fic giveaway on tumblr.

-

-

When everything comes together, it’s confusing. There are new smells, lingering tastes in the air, and the sounds of a million meetings occurring in a chorus around you.

John and Jade have brought a _lot_ of guests.

Luckily they have the space for everyone, but the surprising number has Karkles pitching an absolute fit.

You just think it’s hilarious.

You’re perfectly happy to introduce yourself to every salamander and sprite, dancing through the crowd and sniffing, licking, shaking hands and bumping fists the way Dave taught you to do. You’re all smiles and laughter and crowing calls over bunches of new face. In the distance you can hear Karkat, still squawking and stuttering a mess of embarrassing garbage in front of all these new companions.

At least you’ve managed to clean yourself up before this event, washing all the old soda out of your hair and, you know, _putting on pants_.

Karkat, on the other hand, though fully dressed and decidedly not sticky, is still somehow fumbling.

You’re starting to think he will n _ever_ learn how to be cool. It’s a pretty distressing thought.

You migrate back to Dave and find him shaking off a stubborn crocodile, spend a few minutes laughing your ass off at his plight before something in the air shifts and you frown, twitching your nose at the scent.

It’s not just a smell, though. It’s a real, physical change in the air around you, a new direction to the wind that’s just strong enough to pull and push at your hair.

You turn to Dave, cock your head to the side in a silent question but he’s so obviously not paying attention to you, so you move closer. He’s tense as you step right up beside him, staring forward when you none too gently poke his cheek. You say his name aloud and he’s unresponsive, smelling suddenly of nervous sweat and pounding blood, keeping insanely still until you hear his name repeated in a deeper, eager, unfamiliar voice, and he jumps.

You frown and listen, sniff, and the source of the wind comes bounding through, all “ _oh my gooooooood_ ” and “ _Dave holy shit it’s you live and in person and totally really here_ ” and “ _your outfit is still ridiculous dude, so lame, soooooo lame, hahahahaha._ ”

Well then. John Egbert.

Your frown deepens.

A foot away from you, Dave is struggling. _Struggling_ to be cool. He’s shaking, smirking, you can hear it in his voice, the forced calm of his responses.

“Well fuck,” He says, “And here I thought you forgot all about little old me.”

He’s anxious. _So_ anxious, and you can’t figure why. He’s face to face with his best friend, his “bro,” as he calls him, and shouldn’t he be happy?

You move a step closer, sniff, wait to be introduced.

He _is_ happy. You can tell now. He’s happy, but anxious, afraid, losing his cool which is just tragic.

What’s a coolkid without his cool?

You look sightlessly to the other human, judging his presence and pondering, waiting still, before giving up on either of these dunderheads addressing you and blurting out your own introduction.

You throw an arm around Dave’s shoulders as you announce yourself, smile your widest, and listen as John laughs a little nervously, says hello and asks Dave, not you, if he was interrupting something.

The speed at which Dave answers ‘no,’ is astonishing.

You thought he was over the failed relationship thing, at least as much as you are, which is….pretty over it. The way he’s acting now, however, makes you wonder how well he’s actually recovered.

You would hate for things with Dave to reach the same level of discomfort that they have with Karkat.

You can feel John looking at you now though, somehow judging in his tone when he goes, “Ahuh…”

You force your grin in place, making sure to look entirely unaffected, and let John know that Dave was just telling some silly reptiles what’s what, and laugh in his face because you all know that is not even close to what was happening.

Dave plays along, shrugging his shoulders with you draped across them and muttering something about being, “the master of dealing with unruly reptiles, not to mention some seriously rude amphibians.”

John laughs too, warm and slightly dopey, and he reminds you of Tavros a little bit in that laugh, but it quickly borders on irritating when he snorts and says, “What? No way dude, stop lying. I heard all about your frog catching adventures! Way to go getting your butt kicked by a bunch of frogsicles, man!”

He sounds almost smug. Snarky.

You’re not smiling anymore.

You wait for Dave to scoff at him, fire back a brilliant, utterly disgusting insult the way he does to Karkat. You wait for him to do _something_ but all he does is blush and turn away a little, like he’s embarrassed.

“Whatever dude,” He says, and slides out of your grip as John takes a step back, moves away from you both, “I’d like to see you try and wrangle a hundred jumpy assholes.”

“Haha, I could totally handle them!”

“No way.”

“Yes way! Better than you!”

Dave says nothing and you cross your arms over your chest. You feel out of place and when you try to sense John’s exact location you can’t, he’s too fidgety, and that just irritates you more.

“But wow, hey, enough frog talk dude, we’ve got serious catching up to do!”

“Yeah,” Dave says, sounding relived, almost reverent, “Can’t wait to hear about your bullshit boat party, bro.”

“Ughhhh, you mean the _snore_ party. _You_ need to tell _me_ all about your _totally_ sicknasty meteorfest!”

Sarcastic, again, so sarcastic you can taste it, but Dave doesn’t seem to notice. He just leans over to nudge you with his elbow, a silent ‘see ya later,’ and walks forward as John steps further and further back.

Dave begins a ramble about how he’s totally been communing with trolls this whole time, learning their ways and shit, and every other sentence John is laughing and telling him he’s full of it, going ‘psh’ and ‘fffyeah right,’ shooting him down.

Dave follows him, unfazed.

You stay where you are and listen as their voices grow distant, blend in with the crowd. You hear John snorting, laughing, listen closer for Dave’s retorts and they never come. They fade to a loop of story topping and mockery and you bite the tip of your tongue in frustration.

Your good friend and past-flushcrush has made a complete fool of himself without realizing and you’re feeling things stronger than you’re used to. Slight pity, as always, a hint of shame, more for him than for you, although it is just slightly embarrassing to be left standing alone in a crowd of hundreds, and lastly, strongest of all, anger.

There isn’t a lot that gets to you, not since the Vriska fiasco, not since the absolute mess with Gamzee.

You think perhaps John Egbert’s laugh may soon be added to the short list.

-

-

-

They’re together constantly.

Not just Dave and John, but Karkat too.

It’s like them all being friends is a thing now. Who knew?

Half the time it’s adorable and when you hear them goofing off together you just want to grab Dave and Karkat’s faces in your hands and squish their cheeks, let them know how precious and pitiful you think they are, still, always. But that still leaves another half.

The other half of the time they’re together is time you want John gone.

He isn’t so bad when he’s teasing his _own_ friends, working in some banter with Rose, talking in loops that make Kanaya furrow her brow and question his terminology. Even listening to him give Karkat a hard time is sort of entertaining; they’re a pair of strong leaders, each in their own way, and hearing them go toe to toe just reassures you that Karkat can hold his own.

And honestly, John’s pretty funny. You catch yourself laughing at his antics more and more often, and the fact that he doesn’t mind cackling along with you when you crack puns that make others groan is admirable.

But for as much as he is a spastic little ball of squishy human glee, John Egbert is a smartass. You knew that right from the start, caught on pretty quick while talking to him online that he wasn’t any bit as innocent as he appeared, but hearing the smart remarks spoken aloud changes things somehow.

Or perhaps it’s only when you hear them said to Dave that changes things.

You wander into the dining hall onboard Jade’s monstrous spaceship boathouse planet carrier and sniff around for the _coolest_ scents.

You catch wind of his friend first, John’s blue raspberry pajamas a stronger, though less appealing scent than Dave’s cherry and cinnamon reds.

You find them eating dinner with a bunch of Prospitians, swapping stories about their adventures thus far.

John is doing most of the talking.

You cock your head and listen, breath in, take stock of the situation and frown when you realize that Dave is probably looking just as stupid and dumbfounded by John’s presence as the little styrofoam white folk in front of their Hero of Breath. He sits like an eager barkbeast at his friend’s side, all nervous energy, jiggling his leg and jumping a little when he’s addressed. You can hear the smile in his voice, the little he speaks, and it’s so slightly different from the smirk you’re used to hearing that you’re not sure how to feel about it.

You think he must be waiting for a treat, the way he stays poised at John’s side, and thinking it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You’re not jealous.

Alright yes, yes you are jealous. Just a little.

But more than that you’re angry, defensive. You’re at the point in your relationship with Dave, you think, that protective instincts are sort of natural. You’ve heard of matesprits tearing out the throats of trolls who so much as made their partners sigh, the sort of stuff in old, old Alternian cinema, but you always thought it sounded silly, a complete overreaction.

Now you take a seat across the table from John and listen to him call Dave lame- One. More. Time- and you lick your lips, keep yourself from lunging across the table and strangling him.

And Dave isn’t _even_ your matesprit, just a friend. You scare yourself a little wondering how you might react if someone threatened a _current_ partner.

But maybe you’re overreacting to your own reaction.

You don’t want to kill John, certainly. You’ve already had a go at that and as entertaining as it was, as funny as you still think it is to walk past him and whisper “pchoooooo,” you don’t hate him _that_  much.

You just hate him a little.

Besides, he’s Dave’s best friend and no matter what you couldn’t hurt your coolkid-bro like that.

But strangling John just a little, you think, would be okay. Just every time he makes Dave falter. Every time he says something snarky about Karkat when he isn’t even around to snap back.

You think maybe, just possibly, your old flushcrushes were a little stronger than you’d originally thought. If you’re this protective of your boys, you must be getting in deep with post-romantic emotions.

But that’s probably a sign of your growing up, and you know, becoming a mature young woman doesn’t sound half bad.

Now back to the matter of attacking John Egbert in a vicious display of teeth and claws-

 

Wait, teeth and claws? You had been thinking strangling, originally, as you often do. Though to be honest, you haven’t gotten to bite anything in a while and the idea is tempting. You imagine yourself hunting him, pinning him, growling into his face like a great winged beast with talons and fangs a million times sharper than your own and you sigh.

You miss Nepeta. She would have gladly played along in a rousing game of catch Egbert and make him piss himself from fear.

It’s been like this though, this mounting frustration. You’re not sure what to do with it, how to handle it. Your emotions have been a mess since the start of this journey, you’ll readily admit that much, but you aren’t used to feeling so angry all the time.

There was a stretch of sadness, definitely, nearly a sweep spent feeling misplaced, unsure, of knowing everything was wrong and not being sure how to fix it.

You’ve changed in that time, everyone has, and you keep hoping it’s for the better.

When you find yourself gripping your chair, however, gritting your teeth while John laughs his way through a story and drags Dave along for the ride, you can’t help but worry. This isn’t like you, this directionless anger. When you have a problem with someone, you deal with it. You make your case, or set a trap, or rip the rug right out from under them so they fall back and find you smiling down, so they know who’s on top, who has brought them so low.

You don’t think of yourself as merciless, certainly, but there’s no way you can put sweeps of scourge entirely behind you.

You know better than to put it on display, though, and the fact that you’re wanting to more and more makes your very teeth ache.

Every moment you spend listening to John’s voice, it becomes a little more irritating. Every time you smell him as he passes you in the halls, the desire to stick your foot out to trip him becomes a little stronger. Everything about him is fast becoming an endless source of frustration that you want to snuff out, smother.

The violent impulses make your head hurt, but restraining yourself only makes it worse.

You pin it all on your protective instincts, your dragon blood. These people are your friends, this place your territory, the total package your figurative hoard. John Egbert is not only trespassing, he’s taking your treasures for granted, and that drives you mad.

You keep cool for as long as you can, maintaining a distance from him, from Dave, from everyone really. You keep to yourself and try to wait it out.

Eventually, you think, you will dislike him a little less.

Sitting in your room, cradling a scalemate, you can still hear his air in the vents, feel it chill you straight through to your center.

_He just won’t leave you alone_.

Choked with rage, you tear the head off the stuffed dragon in your hands, throw it across the room to hear the satisfying squeak, the slump of plush tail hitting the floor.

Your room is cold, but you refuse to put on your old cape to spite yourself. The blankets, too, you toss aside, though those you ignore to spite _him_.

Shivering and furious, you begin to doubt that you can ever dislike John Egbert less.

-

-

-

You decide to confront him.

_Confront_ sounds like too aggressive a word, though, so you keep thinking that you’re just going to talk.

No harm in having a nice, civilized talk, right?

You catch him on the way out of his room, having paid enough attention over the last few nights to know what times he usually comes and goes, where he heads when he leaves.

If he’s surprised to see you leaning up against the wall beside his door, he doesn’t make enough noise to show it. He is, however, clearly surprised when you step forward to block his path, saying his name like a death sentence, “John. A word?”

“Um,” He says, not at all like he’s hesitating, more like he’s forcing some politeness and cheer, “Yeah, hey, what’s up? Is this important because I was gonna-“

“Your human dinner can wait a minute, can it not?”

You feel the air shift around you, his irritation making the patterns pulse and change. He’s biting his tongue, you can just _tell_ he is, and after a moment he says, “…sure.”

Of course it can wait. You only need a minute, really, just enough time to say what’s on your mind and let him go.

That is, provided he doesn’t give you cause to punish him for his crimes. What he ought to do is hear you out, agree wholeheartedly that he has been a complete piece of scum, and ask for mercy. That is what he _ought_ to do.

It probably isn’t what he’s going to do, though, and it’s that thought that makes your chest ache with infuriated excitement.

This will probably take a lot longer than a minute.

You clear your throat, mentally prepare your presentation.

“I wanted to talk to you about Dave,” You say.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, says, “Okaaaaay…”

“More specifically, the way you speak to Dave. My grievances about your relationship with Karkat are another case entirely.”

He snorts, and you think he might interrupt, but when he doesn’t speak you go right ahead.

“I’ve studied the ways of the coolkid, as you may be aware, for several sweeps now. It is my understanding that beneath his incredibly shitty façade, he is actually quite the sensitive creature. Shocking, I know. To inferior senses such as yours, I’m sure his silly glasses disguise the pain deep inside his spongy, candy coated heart, but I can sniff out his suffering from an ocean away- it is an especially strong scent, after all- and ever since you arrived, Dave has _reeked_ of uncomfortable teenaged angst. I must insist that you stop inflicting this sickening ‘bro pain’ immediately.”

Well there. That wasn’t so hard.

You think that you’ve made your case very well, but all John says in response is, “What?”

You sigh heavily, shift your own weight to counter John’s, “I’m telling you to stop picking on Dave.”

He snorts again, like this is all really ridiculous, and it sort of is, but you’re not about to admit that to him, “I’m not picking on Dave. Dave and I are like, best buds. We get along really well, okay? Now can I go?

“No, you cannot,” You say, and stand up a little straighter. You know it won’t make much difference in height, and if he really wanted to he could probably just nudge you aside and be on his way, but knowing he won’t, that he is too _nice_ (just thinking the word makes you gag a little,) builds your confidence, “Not until you answer to the crime of hurting Dave’s very sensitive and very cool feelings.”

“Pffff,” He says, actually _says_ ‘pffff,’ like that is a word and not a simple expulsion of air, “What? No way. Dave and I are jerks to each other all the time, it’s like, our thing. Same with Karkat!”

“I already told you, that matter is a separate case. I know it’s hard for you, but please try to stay focused here.”

Ahh, that one gets to him. You can smell it in the very breath he huffs out, hear it in the slight hiss of angry air between his teeth. You grin at the small victory, sway your hips a bit to feel it roll through you, this thrilling little shiver that comes when you’re besting someone.

“Yeah okay whatever, so you think I’m a jerk, big deal. I’m not playing along with your weird vigilante night court thing.”

He moves like he’s going to step around you, so you follow the motion, block him and leave him frustrated. He’s too polite to shove you aside, too much of a brat to simply let you win.

Good gog _almighty_ do you want to bounce his head off the floor.

“I’m not the only one who thinks you are a big jerk, John,” You say, and you probably shouldn’t be smiling so much, looking so smug, but you can’t help it, “I’ve heard it from others,” Jade has howled it through corridors after being caught in a prank, Karkat mutters it under his breath when he thinks no one is listening. They might not mean it as venomously as you’re implying, but still, it’s no lie.

John takes a half-step back, considering, and for a moment the air is dead. You can smell whatever soap he uses, something that’s probably supposed to smell like ocean but really just smells like thick, choking chemicals, and you’re thinking you could probably kill the scent if you submerged him in a recuperacoon.

If only you had one on hand…

He steps close again, closer than before, and you wonder if he’s trying to intimidate you. It isn’t going to work, but the thought is nice.

“So basically you’re hassling me because you think I hurt Dave’s feelings.”

“I don’t think it, I know it.”

John makes another one of those dismissive, airy noises that make you want to punch him, hard.

“Well if I’m hurting his _‘feelings’_ so much,” And he does little air quotes that you can’t see, but feel, because of course a silly little breeze accompanies them, “Then why hasn’t he said anything? It kind of seems like you’re the only one making an issue out of this, which means you’re making an issue out of _nothing_.”

You bite your tongue a little, growl, and the fact that he doesn’t back down at the noise makes your heart beat double time, “Maybe Dave isn’t the only issue, then, have you considered that?”

He snorts, quietly, derisively, “So what, am I mean to everybody and they just don’t have the heart to tell me?”

“Essentially,” You say, and you don’t quite mean for it to come out in such a hiss, but you really can’t help it anymore, “Yes. You are a bully, John Egbert.”

“I am _not_ a bully!” He responds immediately, a touch of hurt in his voice that you want to smack right out of him.

“You are absolutely a bully! A bully of the worst kind!” You sniff, take a half step back, crossing your arms so you can look as haughty and higher than him as possible without tilting your head up to speak to him, “I knew there had to be a reason Vriska liked you so much.”

He seems stunned then, going silent for a moment before making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a huff, something sharp with disbelief. You can hear the smirk creep back into his voice, his pranksters gambit climbing slightly higher when he asks, “And what’s so bad about Vriska?”

He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s _in this_ no matter how much he pretends to be an ignorant human jerk, no matter how he laughs and shrugs as if every conversation is a great big mystery he cannot comprehend because he’s just too darn silly and light hearted. He knows what he’s done to you, that it is not a joke, and he is still playing as though this is some hilarious comic routine.

You launch yourself at him, snarling, fangs bared, and don’t stop till you hear him hit the wall, hear the air wheeze right out of his lungs.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” He shouts, trying to raise his hands in self-defense, “I don’t wanna fight!” He hesitates, ducks a little as you swipe at his face with your nails, just barely miss and jostle his glasses instead, “…I don’t even think I can hit a _girl_.”

In your mind’s eye you see red, intense as the center of your old Alternian sun. You roar in his face in a way that’d make your sweet, departed lusus proud, and fall to breathless laughter as you feel him shiver beneath your hands.  

You think you understand now. The evidence is here, before your nose.

All this time you’ve been pinning your dislike of John on the way he speaks to Dave, to Karkat. But with his words turned on you instead, you have to face facts. You don’t like the way John speaks to _anyone_. You don’t like John at all.

 You downright _hate_ the spoiled little snot and all you want to do is wrap his hood tight around his throat and listen to the delicious little sounds he makes as he chokes.

And then you want to kiss the breath back into him, feel it all around you when he fights back, blowing at your hair and up the back of your shirt.

You want to drive him up the goddamn wall and revel in the resulting fury. You _know_ you can make him hate you just as much as you do him, and the thought of it makes you shiver from your toes to your horns.

“Umm…” His hands are at your shoulder, pushing gently, prying you off him, but you’re having none of it.

“I hate you,” You say, clear as crystal, and that should be enough. But he’s human and stupid and this will need explaining. You’re prepared for that, though. You’ve dealt with one ignorant human before, with even more ignorant trolls (bless Karkat’s bloodpusher he is so dense sometimes,) and you’re sure you can manage again.

“Umm…” He says again, and that is when you kiss him.

He goes rigid, actually does push you away then, but you stay close, refusing to give up that easy.

“Terezi,” He says, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him use your name. You don’t like it, “Stop, this is really messed up!”

“How so?”

“Well….you and Dave.”

“Me and Dave _what_?”

“Weren’t you guys kind of together?”

“Were,” You agree, “Not that my relationship status in that quadrant is particularly relevant to this exchange.”

“But…what? Why are- oh, _oh_.”

You quirk an eyebrow for his benefit, purse your lips as he begins to understand.

“Aw man, is this like…a black thing? That weird hate thing?”

You grit your teeth in irritation, and the sharp grinding noise draws another shiver from him, “Kismesitude. Yes. The weird hate thing.”

“Um…”

“Don’t you hate me, John?” You ask, and slip right back into a grin, slide your hands down to his hips in what could be misconstrued as a sensual touch. Digging your nails in kills the illusion though, makes him wince and bite his tongue to keep from dropping any of the foul language you’re sure is swimming through his mind.

“I don’t hate you,” He says, his breathing a forced little laugh.

“ _Lies_.”

“I’m not lying! I really don’t…I mean, I don’t _like_ you, but I don’t _hate_  you,” He swallows hard enough that you hear it, “And even if I did, that’s not a reason to want to…make out with you or whatever.”

He _reeks_ of lies, of barely repressed energy that you want to draw out. You raise your eyebrows high enough that they might just fly off your face and ask, “And what _would_ be a reason to want to make out with me?”

“I- That’s not what I- uh- dammit, don’t joke like that I’m serious-“

“Serious?” You repeat, your tone mocking. You’re in your element, back in the depths of trolling. You listen to him stutter, know that you’ve broken his brain, and feel such a surge of pride.

Now if John would just fight back.

“Super serious,” He insists, but his voice comes out weaker than before. Your claws easing back out his sides seems to have left him shaken.

You laugh, first a quiet giggle, quickly escalating to an uncontrollable burst of hysteria, and he goes tense with anger under your hands.

The king of pranksters doesn’t like _this_ kind of laughing, apparently.

“I’m _serious_ ,” He says again, a light flush of rosy shame coloring his face, filling your senses, “Stop flirting- or hate flirting, whatever. It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” You argue, though really, you do find all of this pretty entertaining, “I want to bite your face off. In the best possible way.”

“How is there a good way to bite someone’s face off?!”

“Let me-“

“ _Don’t_ show me!”

You pout.

He’s ruining things, the big baby.

You stare him down, putting all your effort into the cool, quiet confidence that you know strikes fear into your enemies, lights a fire in the hearts of admirers. It doesn’t matter that you can’t actually look into his eyes, you can feel him shrink under your stare, suffer in silence till finally he cracks.

His voice comes out low, kind of rough, “…okayshowme.”

Your laughter is gleeful as you dive in again, go up on your toes to clash your mouth against his. Your respective glasses knock together, knock askew as you tilt your head, slip your tongue straight into his mouth and _conquer_ him.

You worry for a moment that he’s making it too easy, that he won’t keep up his end of the bargain. He just needs time to get in the swing of things though, clearly, and after a moment of letting you shove him more and more roughly into the wall, he reaches up to grab a fist full of your hair, twisting and pulling till you’re forced to jerk away, catch your breath.

You hiss in pain, smile because goodness, Vriska must have taught him a lot, huh? That’s quite a catfight technique he’s working. Your blood is pounding in your ears, half from pain, half from the thrill of it all.

John swallows roughly, you lick his Adam’s apple as it bobs.

“I actually really don’t like you,” He says, equally breathless, and you want to crack a joke, but he has to get his words out and you are polite enough to listen, “I didn’t want to say anything, since you’re Dave’s friend and all. But _wow_ I really don’t like you.”

“Honesty is the best policy, John.”

“Hn.”

You snicker, duck your head in to nip at his jaw, and for the moment he seems to have relaxed. There is no protest, no pushing. He settles his hands on your hips, then lower, and you make sure to growl in warning when he tries to cup your ass.

For someone who was complaining just a minute ago, he doesn’t seem to mind the arrangement now.

You breathe in deep at his neck and he smells different, of course, but there is still an underlying scent of salt that you think must be something uniquely human. Human skin, from what you’ve sampled, always tastes the same; light like newly sprouted leaves. The different flavors come through in something else, maybe the sweat, the hormones.

John’s skin under your tongue tastes warmer, darker than what you’re used to, a sort of toasted coconut to Dave’s paper and shade, a fleeting mineral flavor to the rich perfume of Rose’s palm.

In spite of the situation, you’re almost giddy to be able to taste so much. Even when you and Dave were very close, he would put up such a fuss about letting you lick inside his ears.

John makes no such complaints, only muttering a low, “Ewww…,” when your tongue strays.

You taste his hair, just a little, and it’s black licorice straight through. His mouth is almost familiar, cherry red and grapefruit pink and all these blunt little eggshell white teeth that don’t hurt at all when they drag across your bottom lip.

He gasps a soft, rough-edged noise, begins to speak, but the words coming out of his mouth are ones you’ve heard played several times over in your own head, and you don’t want to hear it.

“We really shouldn’t-” He begins to say, and you bite hard at his shoulder, “Dave would-“ You dig in your claws, “But Dave-“

“Dave,” You say, sharp with impatience, “Is not here right now. He is not a factor in the decision.”

“But you guys were, like…I just, I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.”

You smile slow, not at all amused, “ _Oh,_ so now you are a fine and upstanding friend?”

You can feel the heat fill his face, the way it rushes down his neck in the most delicious flush of shame.

“I’m a _great_ friend, okay?” He insists, and growls back at you a little when you laugh in his face. He tries to sting you just as badly, saying, “If anyone here is a crappy friend it’s you! You dated the guy, and now you’re trying to hook up with _me?_ I’m his _best friend!_ That’s messed up, lady.”

To say that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind would be a lie. Of course you’ve considered John and Dave’s relationship, how your intervening may be perceived. You’ve thought the same things before, when you were sneaking past Karkat and feeling terrible, guilty over things you probably shouldn’t even be ashamed of.

This is how things work, after all, this confusing, messy romance stuff; And even if a few feelings get hurt along the way, you will continue on your own path the way you’re meant to, stopping to spend time with whoever you damn well feel like. You are a free agent, regardless of what team you’re on.

You don’t need John Egbert’s judgment. You don’t need any judgment, period.

You are the law, here.

“Trolls don’t work that way,” You remind him with a sly smile, a shake of your head, “The weird black thing, remember?” Before he can respond you catch his mouth again, bite his lip hard enough to break the skin, “Now shut up and let me listen to you bleed.”

The reminder of a threat from sweeps ago jerks him back from hesitation. He grasps your hips tight, whips the wind up around you so you can’t catch your breath as he turns things around, presses you to the wall in his place.

“Maybe,” He says, tense, close, breathing on your lips and you can _taste_ his fury, “It’s about time _you_ did some bleeding.”

You lick your lips, catch his along the way.

Right now, nothing sounds better.

-

-


End file.
